


Pistol

by ladder_vs_stepladder



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 01:12:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladder_vs_stepladder/pseuds/ladder_vs_stepladder
Summary: (Contains spoilers for the end of DRv3)Akamatsu and Harukawa have a chat in a hospital room.





	1. Chapter 1

“I still don’t like you.”

From her hospital bed, Akamatsu can see Harukawa sitting on top of the radiator, her legs swinging lightly. Her gaze is focused on whatever website she’s been scrolling through, instead of Akamatsu.

She doesn’t particularly mind the lack of attention, considering the ugly scars that cover her body, and how pale her skin is.

Team Danganronpa promised her surgery to hide all the imperfections after her health recovered. Every day, Akamatsu changes her mind about whether or not she wants it.

“And I hate you, so we’re even,” Akamatsu says back, almost too harshly.

Harukawa scoffs suddenly. She turns her phone to the false pianist with a smirk and says, “Look at this garbage.”

On the screen is a promotional photo for the fifty-third season. Harukawa herself stands dramatically above Ki-bo and Momota. Akamatsu lets out a low laugh.

Harukawa says, “I can’t believe we posed for these people. Why were we so… disgusting?”

“You still are,” Akamatsu punctuates her reply with a smirk.

Harukawa rolls her eyes and returns to scrolling. After a minute, she scowls, “Oh God, not  _ these _ pictures.”

Akamatsu raises her head from her pillow again just as Harukawa turns the screen once more. She instantly screws up her face at the photo of her and Harukawa, leaning too close together on a pink background. Team Danganronpa had made three of these. For people who would become close friends, for people who would hate each other, for people who would never interact.

“People are still mad about it. ‘It’ being that we were teased pre-release, and then I ended up with,” she grimaces, “Momota. And the same with you and Saihara.”

Akamatsu looks at the tiles on the floor, “Saihara’s a fine kid. He’s just absolutely hopeless in every sense of the word.”

Harukawa laughs coldly, “I won’t tell him what you actually think, so don’t think you have to keep your guts in.”

Akamatsu pretends to think about it, then says, “Not on your life. You remember that I hate you, right?”

“Trust me, I remember. I hate you too,” Harukawa says, malice dripping out of her mouth like blood, “I could rip that IV out of your arm and kill you right this second.”

“But you won’t, will you?”

They look at each other for a long time. Akamatsu stares into Harukawa’s soulless eyes, wishing the harsh scarlet belonged to her. Perhaps the soft lavender she was cursed with will be enough to chill people to their bones.

Perhaps.

“Let’s make a scene,” Akamatsu challenges.

Harukawa jumps off of the radiator and approaches the hospital bed with interest, her lithe fingers tracing the blankets, “What kind of a scene?”

Akamatsu grins devilishly, “How about a scandal? You’re a heartbreaker, aren’t you, Harukawa?”

The raven haired beauty considers her, then leans in close and whispers, “You’d better kiss me like you mean it.”

Akamatsu smashes their lips together as she slams down on the panic button on the underside of her bed. Harukawa tastes like blood, salt, and saliva, just like she should, because this is no fairy-tale romance, no television show trying to force romance to get a better rating.

Someone snaps a photograph of them. Akamatsu hopes that Saihara sees it.


	2. Chapter 2

“I saw the pictures.”

Three days ago, Akamatsu was released from the hospital. Now, she sits on another bed, this time in a room that ‘belongs’ to her. It feels even more like a prison cell than the white roomed hospital did.

Saihara Shūichi stands in her doorway, looking like a wreck. (No different than usual.)

Akamatsu tilts her head innocently, “Oh? What pictures?” She knows exactly what he’s talking about. The photographs of her and Harukawa messily kissing went viral in a matter of minutes.

He tugs his hat over his eyes shiftily, “I’m not stupid, Akamatsu. You and Harukawa, I mean. Are the two of you happy together?”

“We’re not ‘together.’ I hate her,” Akamatsu says shortly, “I hate her almost as much as I hate you.”

He flinches. Akamatsu doesn’t break her steely gaze. Finally, he says, “Well, I hate you too, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You’re a shitty liar.”

He watches her for a moment to see if she’ll break. When she stays statue still, he leans against the wall and admits, “You got me.”

Akamatsu leans back on her bed, “Get out of my room, will you?”

Thankfully, the black haired boy leaves without pestering here any longer. He’s even chivalrous enough to close the door.

Akamatsu waits ten seconds, then says, “You can come out now.”

Harukawa crawls out from under the bed, dusts herself off, then climbs onto the bed and sits cross legged in front of Akamatsu.

“Now,” Akamatsu says, reaching out and tracing the edge of Harukawa’s lips, “where were we, before we were so rudely interrupted?” 

Harukawa hisses softly, “The part where you take your clothes off.”

The ends of Akamatsu’s lips curl. Then, she obliges.


End file.
